An Improper Arrangement

Her eyes opened wide. “Floating? But…but that’s impossible. Floating?”

“I wish you could see it. The only such construction in England, possibly in the world. Unless it’s taken apart—something the duke considered, mind you—as we’ll never know how it was accomplished. As the legend has it, the architect burned all his notes and plans and then threw himself from this very spot, believing he’d never be able to construct anything else to top his creation. Climbed up on the railing, put his arms above his head and launched himself into the air. Unfortunately, unlike our chattering friends down there, he didn’t sprout wings until after he’d hit the floor.”

Thea looked at the railing, then prudently stepped a few feet from the rail. “He jumped? From this very spot?”

Gabriel threw back his head and laughed, and she immediately felt silly. “It’s a hum, isn’t it? Everything you told me is a huge hum. You’re evil.”

“You’re much kinder than the baronet,” he told her, taking her arm and leading her toward the end of the freestanding balcony. “He didn’t figure it out until I told him about how the architect haunts the place, flying through the halls and warning, ‘I’ll never tell—I’ll never tell!’”

Thea attempted, and failed, to contain her smile. “I shouldn’t find that amusing.”

“Ah, but you do. It’s part of my duties as your chaperone to amuse you. Shall I show you the gardens now?”

“As long as there aren’t banshees in the yew hedge, I suppose so.” She kept her arm through his as they made their way down the long curving and enclosed staircase—one of the two that led toward the rear of the estate house—and out through the French doors. “At least these match the front doorway. The duke wasn’t slapdash in every alteration.”

He offered his arm once more as they negotiated the stone steps leading down into the gardens.

“And you think we all should be grateful for small mercies, I suppose.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, no. What do you plan to do with the aviary once you’re duke? Break the duchess’s heart by tearing it all down? Shunting all of those lovely birds into tiny cages and leaving them to…molt?”

He led her to a bench and they sat down, just out of sight of the rear of the mansion.

“Ah, you recognize my dilemma. My only hope lies in the duke living at least another twenty years while I continue to occupy my smaller but rather pleasant estate not five miles from here.”

Thea felt for the man; she really did.

“Shame, then, that he’s locked himself away upstairs, dying.”

“We always add again. He’s dying again.”

“Pardon my lapse. The question, however, remains. As the duchess and I will be removing to London shortly, to allow me to practice my feminine wiles before my official come-out in the spring, I don’t see a good ending for any of us, do you? Not with the duchess in mourning and you taking up residence here. I’ve heard the expression going to the dogs, but you’ll be going to the birds.”

“Is everyone in America quite so blunt?”

“I can’t speak for America, sir. But I do believe in speaking for myself. The duchess wants you to be my chaperone in London, and you’ve agreed, even as you’d rather poke a stick in your eye. Do you perceive me to be that much of a challenge? The duchess has already informed me my wardrobe is sadly out of date.”

Gabriel looked at her chest. He really looked at it, making Thea more than a little self-conscious. “What is that thing, anyway?”

She raised her hands to the fine white lawn fabric edged in a modest row of lace. “This? Surely you’ve seen a fichu before. It’s a large square of fabric, folded into a triangle and then draped round the shoulders and pinned at the center thusly, fashioned especially to—”

“To send gentlemen running for the card room. Take it off.”

Thea pressed her hands more tightly against her chest, knowing exactly what lay beneath it. “I most certainly will not. A fichu is worn for modesty.”

“My apologies, then. I thought the duchess brought you here to marry you off.”

“You don’t have to be quite that blunt, but yes.”

“Blunt for blunt, Miss Neville. Then this has to go.”

With one probably well-practiced move, Gabriel unclasped her small pearl brooch, and the ends of the fichu fell open.

“Aha. Just as I thought earlier. I don’t know the size of your dowry, Miss Neville, but when it comes to sellable assets, I believe you’ve been hiding yours under a bushel.”

She slapped him before she could think, and then quickly pulled the fichu tight across her half-exposed bosom.

“I deserved that,” he said, rubbing at his cheek—she hadn’t measured the force of the slap; she’d simply slapped. Her palm and fingers stung from the impact. “But before you go screeching for the duchess, Miss Neville, there’s exactly nothing wrong with the cut of that gown. I doubt anyone would even notice or remark on it in London. Well, no, that’s not true. I’m fairly certain I’d remark on it. Favorably.”

“That should earn you another slap, you know,” she told him as he handed back the brooch and she quickly stabbed it into place. “Are all Englishmen like you?”

“All men are like me, Miss Neville. Hasn’t your mama told you that? There may be whole months go by when we think of nothing else.”

“You’re not joking this time, are you?”

“Not if I’m going to be your chaperone, no. We clean up fairly well, have learned our manners, walk upright, but men are mostly animals. When you agree to go into the garden with one of them, you can’t ever be certain the gentleman will be able to keep his…baser instincts in line.”

“I’ll certainly never go into a garden again with you. Do you have any more lessons for me?”

“Just one more, at least for tonight. I’m a firm believer in a woman being prepared to do more than slap a man on the forearm with her folded fan and say, ‘La, sir, you presume too much.’”

Thea laughed in spite of herself. Really, should she be enjoying any of this?

He took her hand in his, turning her fingers inward to form a fist. “No, take your thumb out from beneath your fingers. Otherwise, when you complete your punch, it might be to learn said thumb is broken. That’s it, thumb pressed hard on the side of your index finger.”

He had his own hand cupped around hers, fingers to fingers, and gave her fist a squeeze.

“Now, there’s very little force connected to a punch that doesn’t include some sort of preparation. You don’t simply make a fist and aim it at someone’s jaw—or any other vulnerable area you might consider.”

“This is ridiculous,” she said, trying to pull her hand away.

“This, in my experienced opinion, is a lesson more young women should be taught.” He moved her hand until her elbow bent and her fist was beside her, not in front of her. “Do you feel that? The tension in your arm and shoulder? Good. Now we bring it forward, like this, turning your fist and elbow so that the back of your hand faces the sky—yes, that’s good. You’ll land a flush hit that way, without breaking your knuckles—and aim for the lower side of the man’s cheek, near his ear. Like this, and put some snap into it.”

So saying, he guided her fist forward until, his hand now gripping her wrist, he pressed her fist against his cheek.

Her gaze went to her hand, in such intimate contact with his face, and then moved up to his humor-filled eyes and held there. She took a breath, swallowed nervously and watched as his pupils seemed to narrow, at last realizing that they sat no more than two feet apart, in the darkening evening, in a garden, far from any other human being, or bird for that matter.

“You’ve the most amazing eyebrows, Miss Neville,” he said. “They were nearly the first thing I noticed about you. I suppose they might overpower other eyes than yours, but they only add to the mystery of those long dark lashes and deeply brown irises. Is that a hint of gold near their very centers? Fascinating.”

Thea seriously considered a missish swoon. The touch of his hand, his warm sweet breath on her cheek. She’d acknowledged him as extraordinarily handsome when she first saw him, but she’d not imagined herself in such close proximity to him. Worse, she had this insane urge to open her hand, daringly cup his face in her palm.

Which was ridiculous, because she barely even knew him, and much that she did know wasn’t precisely the sort of thing to make a maiden’s heart go pitter-patter. And now he was spouting empty flattery, which should be insulting, except that she realized she very much would like to believe every word he said.

“All right, let’s do it again.”

“Pardon me?” Thea ordered her mind to stop wandering, since it was treading in dangerous areas. With this man, it would never pay to not be on her toes at all times.

“I said, let’s do it again. This time, do it on your own, and put some vigor into it. You don’t want the punch to simply bounce off my cheek. That’s worse than a hearty slap.”

Thea fisted her hands in her lap. “I’m not going to punch you. It’s not the sort of thing women do, and not only is it silly, but it’s ungentlemanly of you to even suggest such a thing.”

“No, Miss Neville, this is ungentlemanly.”

And then he kissed her. On the mouth. He actually kissed her.

Then sat back and grinned at her.

Thumb outside the fingers, coil back with your arm, turn the back of your hand toward the sky as you bring your arm forward and snap!

“Ow! Damn, woman, that was my ear!”

He rubbed at his ear as she bit her bottom lip, looking down at her still clenched fist and wondering how it had gone somewhere of its own volition and now once again lay back in her lap. Throbbing, but back in her lap.

“I’ll probably hear bells for the next fortnight.”

“I’m sorry,” Thea said, instantly contrite. She hadn’t really meant to hurt him. “But you did badger me into it.”

“Badger? Madam, I kissed you.”

“You did. But you did it on purpose.”

Gabriel laughed as Thea winced at her own words. “I rarely kiss without purpose. I wouldn’t say you’re ready to go thirty rounds in the ring at Gentleman Jackson’s Pugilistic Club, but you’ll do, you’ll do.”

“How gratifying. And how many animals do you believe I’ll be punching in my time in London?”

He took both her hands in his and helped her to her feet, then put a hand against her back as he guided her along the route they’d taken to the bench. “I hope to God none, but the Little Season is awash in raw country youths sent there to attain some town polish. I don’t put much trust in such young untrained cubs, having been one not all that long ago. In any event, no more evening strolls in gardens, not without your maid, do you understand? This isn’t Virginia.”

“That’s true enough. Virginia is much more civilized. I’ve moved in Society before, sir, and have never had occasion to even consider having to physically defend myself against…against…”

“An overabundance of ardor?”

If only he’d shut up. If only the ground could open up and swallow her. She hastened her steps along the pathway, wishing they hadn’t strayed so far. Anything would be preferable to spending another moment in this infuriating man’s presence. “Yes. That.”

“Then I shall never visit Virginia, for the men must all be shortsighted fools.”

“My, is this how the English compliment a lady? If there are no more lessons for this evening, I shall bid you good-night, sir, with the hope you’ll find something or someone else tomorrow to occupy your time,” Thea said as they reached the doors to the house.

“Gabriel.”

He’d already held the door open for her, but she paused on the threshold, to look back at him. “Excuse me?”

“I said, Gabriel. Or, as I most prefer, Gabe. After all, we’ve gotten to know each other so much better this evening.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. We are neither relatives nor friends. And, after getting to know you so much better this evening, as you say, I highly doubt we will ever be either.”

Gabriel put his palm to his cheek and winced. “Ouch! Congratulations, Miss Neville. I believe that was your most telling blow of the evening.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are impossible, you know. And thoroughly unlikable.” Considering hers a stellar final shot, getting at least a little of her own back, Thea wheeled about on her heels and was first to enter the madhouse.

“Shut the doors, Mr. Sinclair! Shut the doors! Caspar got himself loose again and is headin’ your way!” The footman shouted the warning as he ran toward them, what looked to be a huge, sturdily built butterfly net in his hands, his warning nearly overcome by the squawking and screeching seemingly emanating from every cage in the aviary—as if the other birds were cheering somebody on.

“Oh, good God in his heaven, not again.”

The door shut firmly behind her just as an incredibly large white bird swooped down from the catwalk, clearly on a bid for freedom. Thea ducked down, her eyes squeezed shut, her hands protectively pressed to her head as the thing flew past her, his escape surely about to end in tragedy now that the door was closed. The bird couldn’t possibly pull up in time, and although she didn’t know all that much about parrots, she was definitely sure that, unlike carriages and such, they didn’t come equipped with a brake.

She waited for the crash, or the sickening thud, only to hear Gabriel say, “Behave yourself, Caspar, if you please. This is a fairly new jacket.”

Thea turned around to see the man standing at his ease, his right arm raised shoulder level…and the parrot sitting on that arm, bobbing its head as if promising to behave.

“How…how did you do that?”

Gabriel grinned, raising his other arm so that the parrot could walk up and across his shoulders, stopping only to rub its head against Gabriel’s cheek.

“Damned bird, damned bird. Awk! Make a stew, make a stew!”

Thea clapped a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “It speaks?”

“He repeats, mimics. Caspar and I are old chums. Aren’t we, Caspar? He was one of my gifts from the duke and duchess, a type of parrot called a cockatoo, but now he resides here. Caspar, give Gabe a kiss.”

The parrot complied, touching its curved blue beak full on Gabriel’s pursed lips, and then performed the most astonishing act—raising a crest of dark yellow feathers behind its head.

“Parlor tricks? And I suppose you taught it that?”

“What can I say in my defense? I was the only child of the house, alone in the nursery, and needed someone—something—to talk to, tell my secrets. Damn. Caspar, don’t.”

It was, of course, impossible, but Thea would have sworn the parrot—cockatoo—had just mimicked the sound of human crying. A child crying.

“Did Caspar just—Was that—?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Surely I’m not mistaken.”

“Come along, you pernicious bird. Time to put you back in your cage. Are you coming, Miss Neville?”

Thea followed along, considering her only other choice was to remain where she was, and she was entirely too curious to do that. “Caspar—secrets.”

Once again the bird opened its beak and the sad sound of a child crying came out. The overwhelming sadness struck at her heart. “I’m so sorry. I won’t do that again,” she whispered, but Gabriel gave her no hint that he’d heard either Caspar or her.

A proud man, a proud man whose dearest friend as a child apparently was a cockatoo, something he probably didn’t want anyone to know.

Gabriel stopped in front of one of the larger cages, this one made of brass, the shape and the size of a small gazebo. At quick count, there were five other birds, probably all different types of parrots, waiting inside for Caspar’s return.

Caspar wasn’t to be alone, the only bird in his own lonely aviary.

“I’ll get the door for you, sir,” the footman said, stepping forward. “I’m that sorry, sir. He was being good as gold, paying me no never mind, and then he was gone, nipping out right over my head.”

Mouth and beak bumped again, and then Caspar spread his wings and half leaped, half flew to the topmost perch. “It’s all right, Wiggins. He’s had a lot of years to practice his escapes. Miss Neville? If I might escort you to the stairs? Wiggins here will soon be drawing the drapes, leaving the aviary in darkness. And before you ask, we use the doors through the music room to enter and leave after dark, which really doesn’t matter, as there hasn’t been an evening visitor or party here since the duke first commenced dying.”

“That’s sad.”

“I agree. Until that time, this was quite the lively place. Have you ever seen grown men sliding down a banister? They had races, every Christmas, I’m told. But then, although they never lacked for banisters, they did eventually run out of racers. The fourth duke only looks somber in his portrait because a smile would have shown his sadly broken front teeth. Some say that’s why he never married, although it’s more generally believed it was because he was a drunken sot who couldn’t be interested in anything or anyone that didn’t involve cards, horses or wine cellars. His whistle was exceedingly impressive, however.”

Thea laughed, allowing herself to be amused, and then politely turned away from the subject of Caspar the cockatoo. “Did you ever slide down the banisters?”

“Only once, I’m afraid, earning myself a sound caning that would have prevented another go at it, at any rate, as well as causing me to eat my mutton standing up for at least a week.”

They reached the head of the staircase that climbed up to the west wing and the long, wide hallway leading to another staircase and the guest chambers. She wasn’t at all sleepy but knew it was time to say good-night, to end this strange, awkward, yet oddly entertaining and enlightening evening.

Perhaps they were friends now. Or at least something less than enemies. She dropped him a small curtsy. “Good night…Gabe.”

His smile wasn’t triumphant—which was lucky for him—but actually friendly. “Good night to you, Thea. Tomorrow morning we’ll fish, as promised, and in the afternoon we’ll see how well you dance.”

“Really? I rather thought dancing was the purpose of tonight’s lesson.”

And with that, while she was still at least slightly in charity with the infuriating man, she left him standing where he was and took off for her bedchamber, her chin held high, even if it did wobble a time or two as she finally got in the last word with him.

CHAPTER SIX

GABRIEL ARRIVED IN the entrance hall a good ten minutes before Thea was due to meet him.

Except she was already there. “Are we having a contest?” he asked by way of greeting. “If so, soon neither one of us is going to be able to get to bed at all.”

She waved off both question and comment. “I was too excited to sleep past dawn. Am I dressed appropriately? I thought a riding habit and boots best, as Clarice opened a window to discern a chill and saw dew on the grass below. She considers herself an expert in predicting the weather with merely a cursory look round and a quick sniff of the air.”

He watched as she drew on her gloves, paying inordinately close attention to how the soft kid encased each finger. Nervous? Was she actually nervous to be in his company? And wasn’t that a thought to cheer a man who’d made a total ass of himself not quite a dozen hours previously.

He should keep her talking, show an interest in this maid of hers, demonstrate how pleasant he could be, how she shouldn’t feel threatened by him.

“Please, tell me more. This Clarice of yours sounds like a unique treasure.”

And there was that laugh again, quick and charming. “Unique? Yes, I suppose you could reasonably see Clarice as unique. She once predicted a terrible snowstorm, which everyone pooh-poohed, as we were halfway through March and many of the trees had already begun to bud. So she hid everyone’s boots and made them pay her a large cent apiece when they needed them the next morning to set a foot outside into the blizzard.”

“She’d predicted not just a snowstorm but a blizzard?”

Thea nodded. “Clarice does little by half measures. It didn’t stop snowing for three days and nights. There were drifts nearly to the rooftops, and where there weren’t, the snow rose up above my knees. Since then, one of Clarice’s main sources of pocket money is charging the local farmers and such to tell them when it’s safe to sow their crops and when it’s necessary to harvest them in order to beat the rain, you understand. And, of course, no mama plans a wedding before consulting with her, just to be assured her daughter will be one of those lucky brides the sun shines on all day. For that service she charges double, and everyone willingly pays.”

“Not only gifted but resourceful, this maid of yours,” Gabe commented, beginning to think he’d like to meet the woman. “Didn’t you also tell me she has ways of finding out information? Is it possible you brought a witch with you to England, Miss Neville?”

“Clarice—a witch? You mean one of those hideous crones we see drawings of in children’s books? Old hags dressed all in black, with noses like beaks, often with a large wart at its tip?” Thea laughed. “Oh, and with a horrible cackle?”

“I’m to be sadly disappointed, I take it.”

“Oh, yes, very much so.” This time her answer was followed by a near giggle.

She had a wonderful laugh, unaffected, full of joy. He would have to remember to make her laugh often.

He could stand there all morning, just enjoying her company, except that something told him sooner or later—probably sooner—he’d say or do something that would set up her back or lead her to asking one of her pointed questions for which he had no solid answers, and then he’d wish himself back upstairs in his bed, a watchful Horton guarding the door with his blunderbuss at the ready.

“If you’ll just give me a moment to check on Caspar, I believe I hear the horses being brought up outside.”

“I’ve already checked on him. He was still sleeping, his head rather tucked up beneath one of his wings.”

“He had a busy night.” Gabriel glanced toward the corridor lined with two rows of decorative cages, a pair of footmen busily scooping out seed into clever feeding trays hinged to each one. Other birds were already awake and eager to eat. After which, as Mother Nature had programmed, they’d— “Shall we go? We don’t want to be late for luncheon.”

The curricle was again waiting outside, but this time Gabriel, once Thea was seated, said, “Jimmy, congratulations, you lucky devil. You have the morning off.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Sinclair!”

“That was very nice of you,” Thea said as the tiger stepped back and Gabriel set the bays off down the drive. “Wasn’t it?”

Gabriel laughed. “Clearly we two are building a relationship based on mistrust. You’re perfectly safe with me this morning. It’s only after dark my baser instincts come to the fore.”

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